


Closer

by Domino_Darkwolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Church Sex, Dom Crowley, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm Going to Hell, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Sex, Shameless, Shameless Smut, Smut, crowley - Freeform, sacrilegious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 04:44:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8830879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domino_Darkwolf/pseuds/Domino_Darkwolf
Summary: "She didn't come to pray. She had come to think. And, staring up at the giant cross, she did think. Not about God or angels or things from Above, but about the thing that came from Below."
Crowley has had Miriam in his sights for weeks. In the darkness of the deserted church, the king is finally going to get a taste of the preacher's daughter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a story I'm trying to piece together called _The Preacher's Daughter_ , which aims to be a love triangle tale that verges on erotica, featuring Crowley, the preacher's daughter (Miriam) and Sam. I was going to wait until it was completely finished to start posting, but maybe a sneak preview will light the preverbal fire under my less preverbal ass and get this bitch written. Feel free to leave a comment. :)

The church was peaceful and dim when Miriam arrived in a pair of strappy pumps and the little black dress. A yellow light illuminated the enormous wooden cross on the back wall and the modest altar beneath it. Cricket songs danced through the windows and resounded throughout the nearly-vacant church like nature’s choir crooning into a cave. Long streams of window-shaped moonlight swept diagonally across the pews on the left, stretching themselves across the aisle.

She navigated between shadow and light, her steps muted by the thin red carpet that paved her way to the front of the church. She ascended the four steps beyond the front row pews, shuffled past the pulpit, and continued on to the altar at the end of the church.

She didn't come to pray. She had come to think. And, staring up at the giant cross, she did think. Not about God or angels or things from Above, but about the thing that came from Below. The beast that had ensnared her in a web of wanton desire.

Crowley.

She knew it was wrong. But knowing it was so utterly wrong only made her crave him more. The touch of his fingers sweeping against her flesh. His lips pressed against hers. Him conquering her until she couldn't walk. These were the thoughts she carried with her to the chapel, thoughts she wouldn't be able to escape until he had taken her completely.

Staring up at the cross, she laughed.

“I'm going to Hell.”

“That has yet to be determined.”

The unexpected response materialized behind her, and she swiftly spun around. Crowley stood in the shadows of the sanctuary, donned in his usual black suit with a deep ash tie and a long pea coat left unbuttoned, his hands stuffed inside the pockets.

“Haven’t you heard of cellphones?” Miriam asked, feigning annoyance at the king’s habit of coming and going as he pleased. He grinned at her flimsy charade.

“You don't strike me as the praying type,” he noted as he gradually sauntered forward, roving in and out of moonlight.

“I wasn't praying,” Miriam replied. Her heart picked up pace as she watched him progress up the steps, and her body tingled with voltaic anticipation. “I was thinking.”

“And what, pray tell, were you thinking about?” he questioned curiously. He stopped just shy of Miriam and the spotlight above the cross, casting him further into obscurity and mystery. His composure remained as blasé as ever as his eyes wandered from her face to her dress. He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and lifted it to her clavicle where his fingers traced the skin beside the dress strap with a feathery touch, igniting an explosion of ardor that shot through her like a strong drug. “Or should I say who?”

His smoky green eyes lifted and caught her gaze, and a subtle smile lifted the right corner of his lip. She didn’t have to tell him anything. The way her eyes gleamed at him with lust, the way she bit her bottom lip and gasped as his fingers slipped down along the frame of the dress, gracing the side of her breast; these things spoke louder than words, and they told him what he already knew.

 

What he had predicted.

To Miriam’s dismay, Crowley abruptly put a halt to physical contact, letting his hand drop to his side. He turned his head up and around, taking in their surroundings with a curious beguilement.

“Interesting place to come to think of the king of the damned,” he commented, tilting his head up to look at the cross. A devilish smile curved at his lips and a brow arched as his attention returned to Miriam. “Very naughty.”

He brought his hand up and gently brushed the right side of her face with the back of his hand, drawing his fingers along her jawline until they were cupping her chin. The tempo of her heart quickened as he inched his face closer until his beard was brushing against her skin and his lips were connected with hers. It started as a simple, innocent kiss (as innocent as a kiss with the king of Hell could be); light and electric, lips touching lips, bodies still inches that might as well have been miles away. The simplicity and virtuous of their touch rapidly gave way to wicked delight as their kisses deepened and their lips locked in an earnest cinch. He drew himself into her, pressing her against the altar with his pelvis, sparking a fervor that blazed like wildfire in her bones. She wrapped her arms around him, half scared this was another tease, and wove her fingers through the hair on the back of his head.

Crowley’s hand traced down the neckline of her dress before slipping between silk and flesh to massage her left breast, invoking a moan of approval to roll through her throat. He dug his hips into hers to conjure another soft moan and she could feel a triumphant smile through their kiss.

He moved his hands to her arms and coaxed them down away from him, but he didn’t part from her as she had feared. Their lips continued their feverish tango while his fingers carefully slipped the straps of her dress from around her shoulders, causing the bodice to fold and unveil her breasts. Miriam tugged his coat from around his shoulders and he casually shrugged his arms free, allowing it to fall around his feet. He wrapped his hands around her waist and effortlessly hoisted her onto the altar where she instinctively spread her legs in invitation.

Their kiss was interrupted when Crowley pulled away. His expression was suave, but hungry, like a patient wolf waiting for the right moment to strike. He skimmed his fingers up her skirt, caressing her inner thighs, watching with a calm rapture as her eyes fluttered and her breath hitched. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when he elicited another lustful moan from her lips when he gently pressed his fingers between her legs.

Miriam reached for his waist, grabbing for Crowley’s belt, but he snatched her wrist and shook his head, wordlessly telling her he didn’t need encouragement. He needed only to touch her, and to watch her slip into sensual inebriation. She pulled back and allowed him to take charge. He locked his eyes onto hers as he tugged at her panties and she shifted helpfully, allowing room between her rear and the altar for him to slip the satin undergarment past her thighs to her knees, down her calves and around her highheels. He dropped them carelessly on the floor and brushed his fingertips up her calves in the same delicate touch that fueled her hunger and drove her wild.

When his fingers reached her knees, however, Crowley dismissed all tenderness as he forced her legs further apart with an abrupt jerk, something that both surprised Miriam and strengthened the mounting lust. He maintained eye contact and his look of dignified lechery as he loosened his trousers and freed his fully erect member. He aligned himself with her, guiding himself into place. Ready to penetrate. But, to Miriam’s dismay, that’s where he left it; pressed just against her, not venturing inside. Teasing her.

“Oh, god, don’t do this,” Miriam moaned breathlessly, stoned on raw lasciviousness. She leaned her forehead against his, her body throbbing in anticipation. “Please,” she begged. “I’ll give you anything, I swear, please just fuck me.”

A sly smirk spread across Crowley’s lips as his brow arched in a satisfied amusement. He planted his lips on hers again before he obliged her pleas by thrusting his pelvis forward, driving himself into her. A volt of carnal bliss charged through her like a shot of absinthe laced adrenaline. Her head rolled back and she released an unbridled cry of ecstasy that drew a pleased grin across his lips.

He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her against him as he pushed himself into her. The altar rocked with every thrust he made, shuddering the candles until they toppled over and gradually clattered to the floor. Miriam gripped the sides for support as her eyes closed and her jaw slackened at the feel of him moving inside of her, hard and deep. Her moans crescendoed as he brought her closer to climax, reverberating against the walls and drowning out the song of the crickets.

“God,” she moaned in a delirium.

“No,” Crowley said, his voice even and suave despite his vigorous movement. “There's no god here, love.” He pushed himself deeper inside with a low grunt. He brought his left hand up to her throat and squeezed, not hard enough to completely asphyxiate, but enough to send a shudder down her spine. “Say my name. I want to hear you screaming my name when you come.”

And he did. His name echoed in a moaning yell through the sanctuary as she came undone. She throbbed against him and went limp, paralyzed with ecstasy. She leaned her forehead against his, her hair spilling into her face as she panted. Crowley moved his head, brushing his beard along the right side of her face, and whispered in her ear;

“My turn.”

He drew himself out of her and pulled her to her feet. His stately composure was rapidly diminishing to give way to his ravenous appetite, and it showed in the way he spun her around and bent her over the altar. He swept her feet apart with a patent leather shoe and pulled her skirt up over her back before penetrating her again. He was rougher this time. Starved. Thrusting himself in ways that would have felt frantic and desperate if he were anyone else but the king of Hell. The ruggedness teetered at the threshold of pain and flirted with fear, but Miriam was too far lost to satisfaction to feel things like fear or pain. All she could feel was Crowley, and he felt good. 

An earthly gasp escaped her throat with each hectic push, and a sensuous moan tumbled past her pearlique lips when his hands cupped her curves of her ass. Her eyes fluttered when he slapped her hard across the rear, and a tiny cry escaped her lips. His own eyelids had become weighted and difficult to keep open as he spanked her, relishing in her moans and voluptuous shrieks. At the same time she called his name again and she trembled against him, his eyes snapped shut and his jaw dropped, and he let himself go inside of her with a long, satisfied groan.

“Holy fuck,” Miriam gasped when Crowley went still, his member pulsing inside of her.

“I think you mean unholy fuck,” he quipped, and Miriam let out an airy laugh.

Crowley pulled himself from her and took a couple of steps back. She righted herself and turned, using the altar for support while he fastened his slacks with a courtly air. She was still trying to find her own balance when he stooped to collect his jacket and rose with her panties dangling from his index finger. She snatched them from him, but didn’t bother to put them back on. Her mind was still clouded, her breath still irregular.

Crowley watched her with a pleased look woven across his face. Miriam grinned, reading his mirth as the aftereffects of post-coitus fever. And she was right, but not entirely. When she pushed herself away from the altar and the light that shone upon it, and pulled the bodice up over her breasts, she discovered why the king appeared so contented.

“Would you like to know what you gave me?” he asked her as he slipped his coat back on. His words sobered Miriam right up, and she felt a pit gnaw at her stomach and horror grip her chest.

“What… what I gave you…?” she distantly resounded.

“You promised you’d give me anything,” he recounted the barter she proposed when she was drunk on lust. “We even sealed our little deal with a kiss.”

Miriam’s eyes widened at the realization of what she had done. Crowley brought his right hand up and cupped her chin.

“You,” he said. “You have given yourself to me.”

“You mean my… soul?” Miriam reluctantly asked, suddenly feeling ill. Crowley chuckled and shook his head.

“No,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “I mean you. Your body. Your _allegiance_. You are _mine_.”

Miriam stared at him with bewildered eyes.

“I’m yours,” she repeated, more to herself than to him. “As in… like, your queen?”

This made Crowley laugh. He dropped his hand from her face and turned slightly.

“Good god, no,” he replied. “I’m not going to risk half of Hell for some tart.” Miriam glowered at this, but Crowley ignored her. “No. You’ll be my consort, if you will. My…” He paused, rolling his hand as he searched for another title that was more suitable, but not overly flattering. “Mistress.”

“Oh,” Miriam said, relieved her soul was, for the time being, safe, but still perplexed about the situation. “For how long?”

Crowley pretended to ponder this, though the tiny smile he wore hinted he already knew the answer.

“Until I get bored,” he said, and Miriam pursed her lips in uncertainty. “Come now, darling. This benefits us both.” He reached out and stroked the left side of her face with his hand. “My little pet can't keep me very happy if she's not happy, now can she?” Miriam’s brows folded in distaste. Crowley retrieved his hand, stuffing it into his coat pocket. “Just think of how horrified your parents would be if they knew you were fucking the king of Hell.”

This piqued Miriam’s interest, erasing the majority of distressful doubt from her face and replacing it with a grin that was almost wicked.

“I'll be seeing you soon, little rebel,” Crowley bid her farewell. Miriam bowed slightly (she would have curtsied, but her dress was too short and too tight for that).

“Yes, my king,” she said, the words rolling almost giddily from her tongue.

Crowley vanished, leaving Miriam alone in the shadows of the church with her panties wadded up in her fist and something new to think about.

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is purely for fun, not profit. Unless you consider a sense of satisfaction profitable, in which case I suppose I'm guilty in that department, but nothing monetary has been gained from this. Etc. etc. etc.**


End file.
